Free Time After Time by Karl Alexander Page B

haven’t seen stones or settings like these since before the war.”
    â€œWar?” said H.G., taken aback. “What war?”
    â€œYou know,” replied Ince with a pinched smile. “The war.”

    â€œOh.” H.G. blushed. “Perhaps, in time, he would get to a library.
    Ince frowned. “If you don’t mind me asking, where did you get these?”
    â€œThey were a gift from my mother. She has a post at Up Park. An associate of Mrs. Fetherstonhaugh who bequeathed her these heirlooms in the first place.”
    â€œLondon?”
    â€œGreater London.” H.G. sniffed, but not pretentiously. His nose had started to run. “How much are they worth?”
    â€œRoughly?”
    H.G. nodded.
    â€œAround fifteen thousand dollars.” Ince subtly gestured at the dirt on Wells’s clothes. “But for a non-bonded sale, you would get much less.”
    â€œWhatever is fair,” said H.G., relieved. “Include this remarkable timepiece and I’m ready to do business.”
    Ince beamed. From a counter drawer he took out a sales contract and a host of other forms which he placed before H.G. “If you’d be so kind as to fill these out, sir. And I’ll need your passport, visa, driver’s license and a credit card. Oh, yes, your current address and phone number, too. It’ll take about a week to process your check.”
    â€œA week? Could you give me something on account?”
    â€œWith proper identification and verification, we might work something out.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, verification?” He ripped up the forms. “I’m not running for Parliament, I’m selling you some of my bloody jewelry!”
    Ince raised his eyebrows. “Do you have a customs declaration, sir?”
    â€œWait a minute! You don’t think I stole these, do you? Good God, man, I’m—I’m an Englishman,” he said weakly.

    Ince turned his back on H.G. and walked into his office with the jewels. H.G. leaned over the counter and saw the little man work the keyboard of a small electric machine that looked remarkably similar to a “collective mind” invention he had made rough sketches of about six months ago. (His device—when he built it—would store the thoughts of great men in copper armatures and then combine the ideas by electronic impulses, the notion being that a synthesis of wisdom would enable mankind to progress at breakneck speed.) He speculated, with sudden indignation, that the machine Ince was using served a far more mundane function, that being to test the veracity of his claim.
    â€œI say, Mr. Ince!” H.G. ejaculated. “Just what is it that you are doing with my heirlooms?”
    â€œChecking them against the computers.” He returned to the counter, slowly shaking his head. “And I am sorry to say that I can’t find a record of them.”
    H.G. grabbed the little man’s arm in desperation. “What could you give me for them right now? In cash?”
    â€œTwo thousand,” Ince replied confidentially.
    â€œSold.”
    Ince moved back to the safe in his office at a hurried shuffle.
    H.G. glared after him. “Bloody brigand!”
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    He left the jewelry store with the money and a digital watch that he now proudly wore on his left wrist. As he left the building he pressed the buttons in various sequences, getting the time, date, year, barometric pressure and number of days left in 1979.
    He rounded a corner and smelled food. His nose locked on the delicious odors, and he quickened his pace. Moments later he stood in front of a new restaurant. It had a dark-brown roof, light-brown stucco sides and large, tinted-glass panels all the way around. The
building was surrounded by pavement with white lines that sectioned off uniform rectangles where people could leave their vehicles when inside. H.G.’s reaction to the macadam was to cross it cautiously because